In less than a week, I will be...brace yourselves....45. Yeah, I know how can that even be possible? I swear I look into my mirror, which must obviously be some type of trick mirror since I seem to look so much better in that mirror than I do in any photos (unless the photo is a distant shot, the lighting is poor and airbrushing was used) and I wonder, who is that tired looking stranger in my bathroom? Before I dial 911 to report an intruder wearing a robe exactly like mine, I rub my almost 45 year old eyes and think, "Sh*t. That's me." Some days, I think I would prefer a weird stranger in my bathroom than the depressing, realization that the old, tired reflection in the mirror is the same girl you see on this 1970's metal "swingset". It seems like just yesterday, I was 10, playing outside with friends, getting the star boy kickball player "out" by miraculously catching the ball that knocked me on my ass and watching non-stop episodes of my favorite television show, The Brady Bunch.

Christopher Knight as Peter Brady.

My gosh I loved that Brady family. I mean who didn't want that AWEsome 1970's house with Alice the housekeeper, six kids to play with, a dog named Tiger, and parents who were so dumb they wouldn't let their kids play ball in the house, but, allowed the same kids to naively wear a native taboo Hawiian idol around their neck which almost lead to a deadly tarantula bite. Last week, as I sat anxiously waiting for Ryan's chorus concert, it wasn't "Marcia, Marcia, Marcia" or annoying, put upon middle sister Jan I was thinking about, no, it was the one Brady who rarely stole the show, who sort of blended in to the background, it was Peter and his voice changing hormonal self.

Remember the episode when the Brady kids got an opportunity to sing on live television (of course they did) in hopes of becoming the next Jackson 5, I mean 6 ? All the Brady kids sang like beautiful song birds (each one secretly hoping they would be like Michael and leave the rest of the siblings in the dust), except Poor Peter. No way Peter was going to be the next Michael Jackson, because in that moment when it was Peter's time to shine, his pubescent voice picked that moment as a "Time to Change". Here is a little reminder. I'm sorry (not really).

Now that Ryan has reached the Peter Brady age, I will occasionally hear a Peter Brady "sha na na na na", come out of his beautiful, soulful voice and I wonder how this voice changing thing will effect Ryan's singing. As with all things Ryan, I then begin to worry. What if he can no longer sing? What if he no longer has perfect pitch? What if this God given talent was only doled out temporarily for childhood and with the onset of puberty, this gift will be snatched away as quickly as Cindy Brady's Kitty Carryall Doll? OMG, what if Ryan started sounding like, or even worse yet, started dressing like (gulp) Peter Brady?

When I asked Ryan about his voice changing he assured me that he can hear the difference in his voice, so he "adjusts it". I don't even know what that means, but, Ryan sounded quite confident and as he took the stage, and the first notes poured out of that beautiful face, I didn't need to understand it, because I could see it and I could hear it. If Peter Brady was on that stage, there were enough other kids on stage with him to drown him out, so that not a single voice cracking "sha na na na na" could be heard. Ryan sang his beautifully, gifted heart out. There were a number of songs Ryan sang that night, but, it was evident that one song in particular he loved best. The one that Ryan felt so deeply, sang so beautifully was the one song that reduced this worrying Carol Brady into a big, heaping puddle of tears.

Ryan's select chorus group sang Bridge Over Troubled Water and yes Ryan sang it, but mostly Ryan felt it. His facial expression, his confidence, his heart, his soul were all on full display, there was no awkward autismy smile trying to hide his feelings, he was fully exposed and he was beautiful. As I sat with tears streaming down my face I couldn't help but picture the depths of troubled water we have crossed together. The worry, the fear, the anxiety we both have had about how to cross that water without falling in and being swept away. I wondered to myself, did Ryan love this song for it's musical score, the notes, the melody, or the lyrics? I don't know why this song stirred Ryan, but, as I felt the melody wrap around me and draw me in, I wondered if Ryan knew, if he had always known, that "I would lay me down" to get him wherever he needed to go, regardless of the water's depth, turbulence and undertow.

When you're weary, feeling smallWhen tears are in your eyes, I will dry them allI'm on your sideWhen times get roughAnd friends just can't be foundLike a bridge over troubled waterI will lay me down

I have been the bridge for my boy. Some days I have been like the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, strong and sturdy, towering high above the water, with not so much as a drop of water splashing my son, and some days I have been a slippery log that has conveniently fallen in just the right place, barely able to hold Ryan up as he slips and slides, to his destination, finally making it across the water to dry land. Although, I may not have always been the sturdiest bridge, in fact more times than not, my bridge should have been closed due to "instability", rated as "structurally deficient" and at high risk of "failure", but, somehow, regardless of the degree of deterioration, I managed to get Ryan across the troubled water. Regardless of how many storms this old rickety bridge has weathered or how many times this shaky bridge was stepped on, trod across, or flooded, I never once let my boy plunge head first into the water. Sure, like most of us, he has gotten wet from time to time, but, I have always been there to get him safely to the other side where he could dry off, change course, if necessary, and move on.

Like most of my fellow mama bridges, there were many days when the structural integrity of my bridge was compromised due to wear and tear, cracks in my towers, and years of being barraged by turbulent waters, and AWEnestly, my boy got wet. Unlike most bridges, we mama bridges do not have a built in accelerometer to alert us to deficiencies and deterioration. There was no way to determine if too much stress and fatigue was being placed on the bridge, increasing the chance that my occupant might fall into the cold, unforgiving water. However, as I watched my son sing, as I watched him achieve, as I watched the confidence soar from his heart as easily as the notes flew from his soul, I recognized that some of the falling, some of the getting wet, and yes, even some of this bridge's "structural deficiency" enabled Ryan to appreciate this moment. All the bridges Ryan had to navigate to cross that troubled water lead him to this moment, where he is today and without having to occasionally struggle to get across that water, he would not fully recognize the beauty of what it is to make it to the other side.

On the days when the water looked calm and serene to me, without warning, Ryan would see a tsunami coming. Regardless if I saw the wave coming or not, this bridge had to be open, this bridge had to be structurally sound ready to bear the weight in order to get Ryan safely across the water. Other days, when to me the water seemed choppy, and everywhere I turned there were whitecaps stirring in the water, I would do a quick safety check, ensuring that my towers were sturdy and my cables were strong because come hell or high water, I had to get my boy across that water, and just like that, Ryan would calmly walk across the bridge without even a backward glance at what I perceived as troubled water.

To all my fellow bridges out there, who safely get their child from point A to point B across that real or perceived troubled water, no matter how deficient and deteriorated you may feel, you always have to be structurally sound, because for a child with an ASD, even the calmest water can look like a deadly whirlpool. There is no time to determine if you are "structurally deficient" or "functionally obsolete", your passenger is counting on this bridge and whether or not your passenger decides he needs to cross this bridge today to get him across that water, or if he decides to take another route altogether, what matters most is that your amazingly AWEsome passenger knows, that for him, you will always "lay me down".

On the days where you feel like a fallen over, moss covered log that got lucky and just happened to land across the water, and on the days where you are as structurally sound, and as meticulously constructed as the Golden Gate Bridge, you still get your passenger across that water. We bridges, no matter our rating, get our passengers where they need to be, and we will always get them where they need to go. So, here's to you all my bridges.

As the last notes of Bridge Over Troubled Water echoed off the school auditorium walls and off my ready to burst with pride heart, I was in AWE of my AWEsome boy. In that moment, I felt certain that Carol Brady and her perfectly coiffed hair, never felt the pride I felt for my Peter Brady (as an aside, unlike Carol Brady, I would never allow Ryan to wear a taboo Hawaiian idol on his neck or that hideous shirt as seen on Peter in the above video). A "Time to Change" may be on the horizon, but, this bridge, regardless of my instability, my deterioration, and my current safety rating, will be there to hold my boy up as he crosses whatever troubled water lies ahead.

Ironically, in 2013 the average age of bridges in the US was 42 years of age and the bridge safety rating was a C+. On some days, when I am "structurally sound, but functionally obsolete", that age and rating sounds and feels about right, for this tired, old, weary bridge. However, on most days when this bridge feels new, sturdy, and strong, I guarantee, that regardless of my age, regardless of what I see in that damn, lying, bathroom mirror, and regardless of what grade the Federal Highway Administration feels I deserve, I know one passenger who on most days, would give me an A+...ok, fine, maybe just an A...as long as I get him over the water and he doesn't get too wet.

Author

Definition of Awe:"a mixed emotion of reverence, respect, dread and wonder inspired by authority, genius, great beauty, sublimity or might." Yep, someone should have consulted a mom before spelling AWEtis﻿m.